


Afterimage

by cavalry



Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, One-Sided Lyon/Eirika - Freeform, One-Sided Lyon/Ephraim (or is it?), Pining, canon-typical sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24104284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cavalry/pseuds/cavalry
Summary: Lyon falls in love.
Relationships: Ephraim/Lyon (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 61





	Afterimage

**Author's Note:**

> \- Please note that this fic is not particularly happy. However, this a prequel to a longer work, and I promise things will look up!
> 
> \- Lyon's feelings for Eirika are acknowledged. I interpret him as bi and didn't want to erase that. However, the focus of the fic is his relationship with Ephraim. Ephlyon will be endgame >:)

Eirika and Ephraim didn’t seem to realize how dazzling they were. To Lyon it was like stepping out of the darkness and flinching at sunlight, too bright for his eyes to take in.

Eirika was warm and welcoming. The day after they met, she found him in the library and asked about what he was reading. He felt foolish, stammering over his words, thinking _the old books I read can’t possibly be interesting_ , but her eyes were kind and her smile encouraging. He felt, for once, like someone was looking at him and actually seeing him. 

Ephraim was captivating in a different way. He was everything Lyon wasn’t—bold and strong and fearless. Ephraim never picked at his fingernails or hunched self-consciously. Ephraim wasn’t fettered by doubt. He was the prince Lyon wished he could be, strong in the training grounds and carelessly confident out of them.

He realized, quite helplessly, that he loved them both.

He had never been in love before, but it was fairly easy to identify the fluttering in his heart whenever they were near. It was a little terrifying, but also exhilarating. It reminded him, in a way, of his first time riding a horse. His trainer had encouraged him to spur the mare to a trot, then a canter, and there was a spike of fear—he was _certain_ he was going to fall—before he realized that he could do it, that he _was_ doing it, and he leaned into the wind and felt like he was flying.

Falling in love was a little like that.

—

As long as Lyon could remember, it had been just him and his father. His mother died of illness when he was young, so whenever he scraped his knee or broke a toy he would go running to Vigarde, who would sit him on his knee and patiently let him cry it out. It didn’t occur to him until he was older that this was perhaps unusual for an emperor who could have easily hired a nursemaid for such things.

His father had always been his closest confidant, so of course Lyon told him. He was almost giddy with the revelation; the news was practically bursting out of him. He felt very grown up, being able to tell his father that he had _romantic prospects_ like a proper adult.

Vigarde listened intently. He smiled, at first, but after Lyon mentioned Ephraim something in his gaze seemed to freeze, and his smile suddenly seemed very fake. Lyon faltered, not sure where the tide had turned, what he had done to make his father displeased with him. He stammered something and trailed off.

“Well,” Vigarde said, after a moment’s pause, “Princess Eirika would be a suitable match.”

The implication being, of course, that Ephraim wasn’t. Something in Lyon’s heart sank a little, which he immediately felt foolish for, because it’s not like he could have them _both_. (A tiny, dark corner of his heart whispered, _It’s not like you can have_ either _of them. Do they even like you back_?)

“But—” he said, wanting to explain, wanting that odd, almost pitying expression to leave his father’s eyes. “Ephraim is a wonderful man. He’s strong, and brave, a-and… and always so kind to me—”

“Ephraim is the heir to Renais’ throne, and you are the heir to Grado’s,” said Vigarde with finality. “A marriage between you simply wouldn’t work.” Lyon’s heart fluttered at the word _marriage_. He hadn’t been thinking that far ahead, but his father had. He had been foolish not to consider it. What other endpoint could there be, for two princes?

“Aside from that,” Vigarde continued. His gaze was gentle, but Lyon couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being pitied. “That sort of thing, between two men… well, it’s frowned upon, especially among nobles. You know that, right?”

It was like being doused in cold water. The anxiety that had been building throughout this conversation surged up, seizing him. Lyon opened his mouth to protest but froze up.

He heard more of the staff’s gossip than any of them likely realized. He knew that Paul, who worked in the kitchens, had been courting Bernard, who worked in the gardens. He knew that Basile, who worked in the stables, also favored men, and had been through a string of torrid affairs that invariably ended in someone’s heartache. He had heard the way some of the other staff spoke about them—the snide remarks, the condescension, the laughter. He hadn’t known why the other staff seemed to dislike them so much, but had assumed it was something to do with interpersonal conflict he wasn’t privy to. But… were they scorned _because_ they loved men?

It was like an icy stake through his heart. He had been naive. Poor, sheltered Lyon, with his nose in his books, hadn’t even realized that his crush was abnormal. And he had come gushing about it, come _bragging_ to his father!

“I,” he said, choking. “I’m sorry, Father. Please forget I said anything.”

“Lyon—” said his father, but Lyon was already on his feet. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said with a bow. He couldn’t have been out of the room any faster.

His father knew what sort of man he was now. The sort who was “frowned upon.”

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Lyon returned to his room that night and burrowed himself in bed and cried.

He wanted to be a good emperor. He wanted to be someone his father could be proud of, who his mother would have been proud of. A credit to his people. Not someone they would whisper about. An embarrassment to the empire.

He had thought, many times, that Ephraim would be a splendid king one day. Lyon had always felt hopelessly outpaced by him—Ephraim was stronger, bolder—and at that moment what felt like an insurmountable chasm opened between them. What was the point of telling his father about his ill-fated crush? Ephraim would never reciprocate it anyway, because Ephraim wasn’t like that. 

_I’ll bury it down_ , he thought fervently, _until it’s dead_.

—

The next morning, the twins met him after breakfast. 

“Good morning, Lyon,” said Eirika.

“Morning,” said Ephraim. “I was planning on doing some strength training today. I know you wanted to work on that, if you’d like to join me.”

It was true. Just the day before Ephraim had mentioned training, and Lyon had jumped at the thought. It had partially been because it was something he genuinely wanted to work on, and partially because, well—

Because he had gone warm at the thought of spending time with Ephraim. Being close with Ephraim.

That was exactly the sort of thing he couldn’t encourage.

“Actually,” he said, feeling two sets of eyes on him. “I was thinking perhaps I might spend today in the library. Eirika, were you planning on going there as well?”

And so it began—Lyon gradually pulling away from Ephraim. He made excuses of needing to study when Ephraim took his lance lessons, and needing to meet with General Duessel when Ephraim eventually made his way to the library. When Ephraim asked him for help studying (something he used to relish) he would refer him to Eirika, or Father MacGregor, and make himself scarce.

When they took meals together, he would make every effort to be seated by Eirika. When Ephraim _did_ seat himself next to him, he would angle himself away, and squirm away if their legs touched under the table.

One night, as he was returning to his quarters, Ephraim caught up with him in the hallway.

“Lyon!” he called, jogging to catch up before Lyon could reach his rooms. “Hey, Lyon!”

“Ephraim,” he said, puzzled by the urgency in his tone. “It’s late, what—”

“Have I done something to upset you?”

Ephraim looked _worried_. He bit his lip and crossed his arms. Lyon had never seen such a self-conscious look on the other boy before.

“It’s just,” Ephraim said, “I feel like you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder lately, and not wanting to spend time with me, and I, I just—” he shrugged helplessly, “if I’ve offended you in some way, I wanted to apologize. Whatever it was, I swear I didn’t know—”

Oh, what a fool he was. He had tried to protect his own heart and inadvertently hurt Ephraim’s. Honest Ephraim, who had no idea of what was going on in Lyon’s head. He was far too straightforward to have any idea of the shameful ideas Lyon had been having. He only saw his friend avoiding him.

“No,” Lyon said, “not at all. I’m sorry if you thought that. Ephraim, you are—” he cleared his throat. He had almost been honest. Perhaps too honest. “You and Eirika are my dearest friends. I could never be upset with you.”

Ephraim didn’t look particularly eased. “Then why—”

“It’s not,” said Lyon, looking down. He could never tell the whole truth, but perhaps a partial truth. At least then he could tell himself he wasn’t really lying. “It’s not that I want to spend less time with you. It’s just that I, well, I’ve been trying to… to spend more time with Eirika, because, um…”

Understanding dawned in Ephraim’s eyes, but for a moment he almost looked even _more_ unhappy. But the look was gone so quickly Lyon wondered if he imagined it, and Ephraim was grinning.

“Well now!” he said, slapping Lyon on the back. “A crush on Eirika, hm? I didn’t think you had it in you!”

“You’re not… upset?” tried Lyon tentatively. He was still thinking about that look he thought he had seen.

“Why would I be upset? I’ll admit I don’t know what you see in her—oh, don’t make that face, I’m _kidding_.”

“I just thought you might think she’s—” he cut himself off. He didn’t like expressing these feelings. He knew full well how pitiful they were.

“Thought what?” said Ephraim, and just looked at him.

The silence felt endless.

“Too good for me?” said Lyon weakly. “I doubt she would be interested anyway…”

“Too _good_?” said Ephraim, looking stunned. “Lyon, you—you’re the smartest, kindest person I know. You’re a genius, and a saint. She should be _honored_ to have you.”

Lyon’s heart stuttered at the easy praise. Ephraim was looking at him so earnestly. He felt warm, the way he did when their hands accidentally brushed, or when Ephraim had tried to show him how to hold a lance and had to keep adjusting his form.

 _No_ , he thought viciously. This was what he had been trying to avoid in the first place.

“Well, thank you,” he said. 

The things Ephraim said weren’t true, but they were kind of him to say.

—

That fall, the twins returned to Renais. Lyon went from having two best friends to being alone, again, and was desperately lonely until he received his first letter from Eirika two weeks later. It was nearly three pages long, and she recounted everything from what she had been learning from each of her tutors, to the kinds of flowers that were blooming in the gardens, to the mischief a palace cat had gotten into. She had found an interesting book in the library and wondered if he had read it. If it wasn’t in Grado’s library, she said, she would be happy to lend her copy to him.

He read the letter with warmth in his chest. That was just like Eirika. She was always so kind to him. He had confided in them both that he didn’t have any other friends his age. She must have been thinking of him, alone in the palace, and wrote to keep him company.

It made sense, didn’t it? To choose Eirika? 

He wrote her back immediately, almost frenzied. ( _Don’t let them know how much you miss them_ , that same tiny corner of his heart whispered. _You’ll look desperate_.) He looked at his letter, over five pages long, and crumpled it up. He wrote another that was much shorter, and after much second-guessing, finally sent it.

The two of them corresponded over the next few months. He never received a letter from Ephraim, and came up with a host of reasons why. Had Ephraim, upon further thought, decided that Lyon was unsuitable for his sister? Or, even worse—had Ephraim had caught on to his feelings? Perhaps Ephraim was distancing himself because he was repulsed. The thought made a knot of anxiety climb up his throat. He held off for a while, not wanting to bother Ephraim if he didn’t want to be bothered. Finally, he tentatively inquired how Ephraim was doing in one of his letters to Eirika.

 _Ephraim is well,_ she wrote back. _He injured himself training yesterday, but that’s hardly something new. He asks about you often. I tell him he ought to just write to you himself, if he wants to know how you’re doing, but he said he’s “not good at that sort of thing,” whatever that means._

The next letter in the stack was from Ephraim. It must have been sent out at the same time as Eirika’s, which made Lyon imagine her chiding him and him deciding to write something just to prove her wrong.

It was shorter than Eirika’s, the handwriting far messier. 

_Hey, Lyon!_

_I hope you’re doing well._

_Are you still practicing that hold I showed you? If you’re keeping up with your training, I bet you’re pretty strong now._

(Lyon had not been keeping up with his training.)

_Anyway, keep at it!_

_To be honest, I never really know what to write in a letter._

_Father says we’ll likely be able to see you again after the winter. It seems very far away, but I know you had your books to keep you company. Me, I find it unspeakably boring to be cooped up instead when the weather is bad._

_Keep practicing your lancework! You can show me the next time I see you._

_I miss you._

_Yours,_

_Ephraim_

Lyon stared at the letter. The last line had a certain veil of unreality to it. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

That was all it took for his carefully constructed disinterest to come crashing down.

Dear Ephraim. Straightforward Ephraim, so honest with his feelings. Hopeless Ephraim, whose handwriting was sloppy as if he had been in a rush to get the words out, whose paper was crinkled, who had said he was never good at this sort of thing but had done his best to write a letter anyway. Effortlessly lovable Ephraim.

Lyon had tried to wring these feelings out of himself, but it seemed he hadn’t rid himself of a single drop after all.

—

“Hey, Lyon,” Ephraim shouted as soon as he came into view. The twins were visiting again, and Lyon had been counting down the days.

Ephraim’s hair was wind-tossed and his smile was careless, and Lyon felt his heart skip a beat at the site.

He felt, strangely, resentful. It wasn’t Ephraim’s fault, exactly, for making Lyon fall in love with him, but Lyon’s life would certainly be easier if Ephraim had been a little less handsome and earnest and all-around admirable.

 _Do you even know that you make me feel this way?_ he thought. Of course he didn’t. Ephraim wouldn’t smile at him like this if he knew.

If it weren’t for Ephraim, would he ever have awakened these feelings at all? Or would he have been content to take a wife, and love him, and never think about men like this at all?

It was a deeply unpleasant feeling, to love someone and hate them for it.

—

Sometimes when Lyon woke from a good dream, there was a moment when all was right in the world. When he finished waking, the weight of the world would hit him all at once—his father dead, his country in peril, himself completely inadequate for task—but in that warm drowsy state, for just a moment, everything would be wonderful.

Taking in the Demon King was like entering a dream state. There was no stress, no fear, no doubt, no self-hatred. Just the warmth of darkness running through him.

—

“I’ve always loved you,” he said. It was a burden lifted after all these years. He saw Ephraim’s eyes open in shock.

Nothing mattered, now. The old Lyon was gone. His weakness, his insecurity, his fear. All had been carved out, the remains filled up with the Demon King.

“I’ve always hated you.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- I wanted to write a fic untangling Lyon’s feelings towards Ephraim—the duality of “I’ve always loved you, I’ve always hated you.” You can definitely read insecurity in his masculinity from the way he’s jealous and preoccupied with Ephraim being stronger than him (and Eirika too; he calls himself pitiful for being out-fenced by a woman). If you’re doing a queer reading, I think insecurity in his sexuality is a natural next step. He’s self-loathing, he’s jealous of Ephraim for being (seemingly) straight, and he resents Ephraim for “making me fall in love with you.” 
> 
> \- Vigarde doesn’t actually have a problem with Lyon liking men. What Lyon interprets as pity is actually sadness, but he knows that this will make life harder for his son, and he knows that with his duty to the throne, it’s unlikely he could pursue a relationship with a man. In my interpretation, Magvel isn’t especially homophobic. (I definitely think L'Arachel has a crush on Eirika and is pretty forward about it!) Some of the staff are kind of homophobic, but not everyone. Lyon, of course, was already deeply insecure about being a "not good enough" prince, so he took this pretty hard.
> 
> \- This story is more of a setup for a longer Lyon-in-Askr fic that's been underway for a while. Keep your eyes out!
> 
> \- You can find me on Twitter @chrobinass!


End file.
